


Leap

by Eitch



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, tagged as rape/non-con to be on the safe side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5832025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eitch/pseuds/Eitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Losing your footing between two rooftops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leap

It was raining a little, a morose patchy rain that was neither romantic nor interesting. It was merely cold, and wet. Very, very wet.

Down below, in the narrow street, a small silhouette was walking, only barely visible in the darkness. The sound of footsteps was echoing between the buildings. A fluorescent sign hiccuped, briefly flooding the street in hot pink. On one of the roofs, a shadow moved.

When the sign lit up again, the street was empty.

 

* * *

 

\- Hey, commissioner?

The woman looked disturbed. The hollow of her cheeks was an odd shade of green.

\- We found another one.

 

* * *

 

\- It’s the sixth body in one month. The sixth, dammit. That’s one every five days. What are you doing out there?

Batman rubbed his chin.

\- I have no leads, he finally said, and he sounded more angry than sorry. No leads at all. Whatever we’re after... Whatever we’re after, it’s smarter than me. For now, he added almost immediately.

Gordon laughed bitterly, and the wind that always blew on the rooftop stole the sound and threw it away.

\- And that’s supposed to make me feel better, isn’t it?

\- Stop it, Batman snapped. I’m working on it. You feel you can do better, be my guest.

Gordon raised a calming hand.

\- Sorry, he said. Didn’t mean it like that.

Batman shrugged and didn’t answer.

\- What do you think this is? Gordon finally said.

 

* * *

 

\- I found the books you asked me for, master Bruce, Alfred said as Bruce Wayne slid into the library. They’re waiting for you on your desk.

\- What, all of them? Wayne asked, slightly surprised.

\- You underestimate me, Alfred said. Yes, all of them.

He took one step closer.

\- Vampires? he added in a lower tone. Really?

Wayne sighed.

\- I look at it this way. Either it’s a bona fide vampire, in which case I need to know as much as I can about them, or it’s a serial killer with a clear obsession with vampires, and a good knowledge of vampire trivia will help me understand them.

\- So you’re entertaining... the possibility that this might be real?

This time Wayne didn’t answer.

\- I’ll be in my study, he merely said.

When he pushed the door, he winced at the sizeable heap of books on his desk. He would be there all night. And all day too, probably.

He grabbed a book at random. A neatly-folded piece of paper fell out of it and swirled slowly to the ground. He caught it and opened it distractedly.

 _Will the Batman meet the bat-man?_   the note said. _The Den seems oddly appropriate. Bring someone, or do not ; but do not be fooled into thinking even a great number of people could manage to subjugate me. This is your only chance at an explanation. I will be waiting for you from ten pm onwards every day of this week. Look for the overdressed man drinking a Bloody Mary. PS: As proof of my good faith, my second kill wore a dark grey paisley scarf which I used to gag them. I do believe this detail has not been made public._

Wayne toyed with the note for a few seconds before he threw a quick glance at his watch. _9.25._

\- Alfred, he called. Can you bring me a suit? I'm going out.

 

* * *

 

The Den was, as usual, a mixed bag of hipsters and potheads - some of them checking the two boxes - talking very loudly about vegan shampoos, open mic nights, microbrews and other topics Wayne wasn't sure he understood completely. The barman sneered when he ordered a ginger ale. Everyone was staring at his suit. Arriving early had, perhaps, not been his greatest idea.

\- A Bloody Mary, please, he suddenly heard a velvety voice say in his immediate vicinity.

He didn't know what he had expected. But he knew that the man in whose face he was staring was not it.

The main impression he conveyed was... long. Long face, long arms, long legs, impossibly slender fingers. He just seemed to go on forever, all dry muscle and wiry limbs. The more Wayne looked at him, the more uneasy he felt. There seemed to be something deeply wrong with him, on a purely physical level; his whole body felt incorrect somehow, as if someone had attempted to replicate the human form without truly understanding it. Even his face didn't quite work, in a way Wayne couldn't exactly pinpoint. There was something about its proportions, about the overall distribution of its elements, that just wasn't right. The eyes were too big, the mouth too bright and mobile, the outlines of the jaw and cheekbones too sharp, the skin too perfectly clear. What it evoked was a mask, rather than actual human flesh.

\- Great costume, sir, the barman said as he pushed the Bloody Mary towards Wayne's companion.

His tone of voice was now noticeably warmer, and he even graced Wayne with a little approving smile.

\- Thank you, the man said as he grabbed his glass.

As soon as the barman turned away, Wayne said:

\- Why here?

The man waved a hand airily.

\- Names matter to me, he said. They hold a great deal of power. For two bats, the Den just seemed right.

\- And the Bloody Mary...

The man smiled widely. For a second, Wayne worried his face was actually going to crack open.

\- For the atmosphere, he said.

They stayed silent for a few seconds as Wayne sipped his ginger ale thoughtfully.

\- I was not sure you would come, the man finally said. You seem so intent on doing the right thing.

Wayne chuckled.

\- You’re calling me, what? Pure, or something? he asked.

The man shook his head disapprovingly.

\- You are not pure, of course, far from it. You are not even good. But you are not evil either. Evil is something you slip into because you need it sometimes. It is not part of your nature. Selfish? Yes, of course you are selfish. You are also a great many other things. But evil, that you are not.

\- And you are evil? Wayne asked.

\- Of course, the man replied. Of course. We are evil creatures, all of us.

\- "Us" being... who, exactly?

Again, the man smiled, that strange smile that made his face look like it was about to split open.

\- Surely you know by now.

Wayne nodded.

\- Fair point, he replied noncommittally.

The man bit into the celery stalk that garnished his glass, and Wayne couldn’t help but shiver internally. Nothing vegetal ought to crunch in that way. As if he had read his thoughts, the man shot him a somewhat sarcastic glance. Wayne lowered his eyes. _He’s playing you._

\- No questions? the man asked. Really?

Wayne put down his glass.

\- Let’s take a walk, he replied.

 

* * *

 

The air was cool and treacherous, slipping its cold fingers under Wayne’s coat, working its way to the skin. He buried his hands deep inside his pockets and threw a quick sideway glance at his companion. The man seemed unaffected. When a sharp gust of wind whipped their faces, Wayne gritted his teeth and forced himself not to shudder. He had been humiliated enough.

The man stared at him invitingly. After a second of hesitation, Wayne finally dived in.

\- Why Gotham? he asked.

The man smiled.

\- Maybe because I wanted to meet you, he said.

Wayne didn’t reply. He realized he had been mechanically shredding a tissue to pieces in the depths of his pockets and stopped immediately, angry at himself.

\- You killed people, he said to mask his confusion.

The man nodded.

\- That I did. It is in my nature. But none of them suffered. None, I assure you. I take no pleasure in inflicting pain upon my preys.

\- They were human, Wayne spat out, and this time he couldn’t contain the rage those words had awakened inside of him. They had families.

The man shrugged.

\- Do you not eat cows? he asked. Or hens, or fish? Do they not have youngsters, do they not feel pain?

\- It’s not the same, Wayne said in a low voice. You know it isn’t.

\- Why? the man asked. Because they are not like you?

Wayne remained silent, staring at the ground.

\- I am a predator, the man continued. I feed upon humans. I have no control over either of these facts. Hunting your kind has never brought me any sort of pleasure and I have never done it outside of pure necessity. I do not expect you to understand, of course. But the crux of the matter, I think, is that you need to realize that I am not human. I was, a long time ago. But I am no longer. I kill human beings, not out of depravity, but because they are, so to speak, my natural fodder. I am what I am. There is no changing that. And you cannot stop me, Batman. You know you cannot contain me.

Wayne shrugged.

\- Who knows? he said.

\- I do, the man replied equanimously.

Wayne took a deep breath.

\- Surely you were beaten once? he said, trying to keep his voice as matter-of-fact as possible.

The man’s features hardened imperceptibly.

\- Once, he said. Only once.

Silence stretched between them again, rippling and patterned and alive with memories-turned-legends.

\- What would it take to convince you to leave? Wayne finally asked.

The man chuckled.

\- A lot, I’m afraid, he said. This city suits me. I have not felt this alive in a very, very long time. Figuratively, of course. But immortality has its downsides, and one of them is boredom. Gotham has proven a very effective cure against that. You are no match for me, he added suddenly as he shot a penetrating glance at Wayne, but you do keep me on my toes.

Wayne cocked his head to the side.

\- I’ll take this as a compliment, he said.

\- It was meant as such, the man replied graciously.

\- You know I will protect the people of this city against anything, don’t you? Wayne asked quietly. You know I’ll lay my life on the line if necessary?

The man made a vague gesture.

\- I do. But please, do not put me in a situation where I would have to harm you. I would regret it immensely.

\- Is that how I get you to leave? Wayne said. By refusing to play?

The man grinned.

\- I would always find a way to force your hand. You know I would. This is no longer your city, he added. It’s ours.

For some reason, it was that sentence, and the calm way in which it was uttered, that pushed Wayne over the edge. He grabbed the man by the shoulders and pushed him to the ground.

He was surprised at his opponent's strength. He expected it, of course - he had read enough to know that they were always deceptively powerful. But the man's steely grip was unlike anything he had ever experienced. For the first time in many years, he felt like this was a fight he possibly wouldn't be able to win.

He managed to grab the man by the collar and slammed his head against the pavement. The man was taller, but Wayne was larger and heavier, and the milliseconds he had gained from initiating the brawl gave him a faint but nonetheless measurable advantage. The second time the man's skull met the ground, Wayne felt the bone crack.

\- It doesn't even hurt you, does it? Wayne growled.

The man thrashed aimlessly. Wayne pressed down on him, pinning him to the ground.

\- It ends tonight, Wayne said, holding on firmly to the man's hands.

The man laughed wheezily.

\- Does it? he said.

Wayne was flipped over without understanding how. His back hit the pavement with a hard thud that knocked the breath out of him. As he was desperately gasping for air through the burning pain, the man settled on top of him. When Wayne tried to grab his throat, he easily pinned his hands over his head.

\- It does not have to end tonight, the man said. Tonight can be a new beginning.

He smiled, and his teeth caught the moonlight.

\- Imagine you and me, he said.

\- What the fuck is wrong with you? Wayne growled.

\- Fair enough, the man replied thoughtfully.

He leaned forward, his face now a few inches away from Wayne's. They locked eyes, and warmth started pooling in Wayne's gut.

\- But really, the man said in a lower voice. Imagine you and me.

Their first kiss was hungry and ferocious, and wonderfully, terrifyingly real. It rang deep inside Wayne, and when the man let go of his hands, Wayne didn't reach for his throat but for his hair, balling it up in his fist and pulling at it desperately. It was easy. So easy.

He pulled at the man's shirt, and buttons jumped everywhere as he lunged on the exposed flesh. It was warm, and Wayne decided to ignore what that meant. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Except those hands, and that gaze that understood, that knew. He felt a hand tangle in his hair, and suddenly he was burning inside, ready to cry under that touch.

\- You're lonely, the man said. Lonely and tired. And afraid.

He unfastened the buttons of Wayne's shirt, taking his time.

\- You don't have to be, he added. Not anymore.

He put a hand on the nape of Wayne's neck, stroking it gently.

\- I see you, he murmured.

Wayne wouldn't have been able to tell, afterwards, whose hips began rocking first. But soon they were grinding against each other, clawing at the other's skin, and Wayne buried his face in the man's shoulder and breathed him in as arousal built up. It was a lie, of course - the closeness, the warmth, the humanity of it all. But it was a good lie, and for once, just for once, Wayne felt like relishing in it. The harsh light of truth only brought you so far. Sometimes what you needed was the strange orange twilight of a back alley, and someone writhing against you, hard and heavy and wanting and dangerous enough that you knew they could handle you.

He realised there were tears in his eyes. Rather than wiping them, he bit deeply into the man's shoulder, and swallowed them back. The man closed his eyes and exhaled sharply.

\- Let's not do this here, he whispered.

Wayne nodded.

\- Up? he asked tentatively.

They climbed the building together, shoulder against shoulder. Far below, in the alley, their discarded shirts were two white flowers in bloom, gleaming in the moonlight. When they reached the rooftop, Wayne's hands were bloody, and the sudden, bitter pang of adrenaline felt like a slap. The man smiled at him.

\- I am fed, he said. Do not worry.

He took Wayne's hands to his lips. His tongue darted out, shockingly intimate against the torn skin.

\- You need this, he added. I can smell it on you.

He let go of Wayne's hands and stroked his face, with more gentleness than should have been possible. Wayne shivered and closed his eyes, and the man chuckled.

\- Has it been that long? he asked.

\- You have no idea, Wayne replied in a hoarse voice.

He pulled him closer, suddenly desperate for touch, for skin. The man's arms closed around him, and for a split-second Wayne wondered if someone was looking at them, two silhouettes embraced against the starry sky, moonlight and shadow dripping along their backs.

They kissed again, and the man's hands locked on Wayne's hips. On his shoulder, the mark of Wayne's teeth was a mere dent in the skin - no blood had been drawn. His gaze crossed Wayne's. _See me_ , his stance seemed to say. _See all of me_.

Wayne's pants began to feel really uncomfortably tight.

He grabbed the other man's arms and kissed him. There was something about his collected demeanour, his smooth, apparently effortless self-control that felt both arousing and humiliating. And beyond that, of course, the predator intensity, the unrelenting power that he had no way to defeat.

He could still damn well try.

They fought again, on that roof, skin against skin and burning mouth against burning mouth, and this time their struggle was a real one, one where they both put all their strength and cunning, all their thirst for power. All their need, too - because no matter what the man said, Wayne knew he was just as lonely as he was.

They orgasmed almost accidentally. That was not the point.

When they finally collapsed next to each other, panting and bruised and covered in their own semen, no-one had won and the dawn was rising. The air tasted fateful.

\- Bats mate for life, Wayne ended up saying breathlessly.

The man laughed.

\- No they don't, he replied.

\- You know what I meant, Wayne replied.

The man propped himself up on one elbow. He gazed into Wayne's eyes.

\- Yes? he said, and they both knew what he was asking.

Wayne nodded, and threw his head back.

He screamed, probably, as life left his body. Souls were noisy little creatures, and the silence inside his head once his was gone was a luxury he wouldn't have traded for the world.

And then he drank from the other man's wrist, and that was how he learned his name.

 

* * *

 

The only thing that was ever found of him was his shirt. Some assumed the rowdy playboy had chosen to start his life over, to disappear as flamboyantly as he had lived. Some others believed he, too, might have fallen victim to the mysterious evil that lurked in the shadows of Gotham. Newspapers put his face on all their front pages, and for some weeks after that the Internet was alive with the buzzing of complicated theories that crashed into flames mere hours after they were posted. As the inquiries stalled and no further clues were found, the agitation died out. When a true crime show included him among other mysterious disappearances, everyone knew it was truly over.

The Batman's shoes were filled, of course. But the new guy, whoever he was, was nowhere as good. No, nowhere as good indeed.

And the bat-men jumped from roof to roof, and wherever they went, they belonged. After all, Gotham was their city. And no-one loved it quite as they did.


End file.
